Blyth is quite equal to Lord Nelson in
personal daring, and possibly not behind him in abilities. Consider how
shockingly poor Nelson has been injured, and he feels convinced himself
that they will have his life at last. No officer can be a hero without
getting very sad wounds, and perhaps losing his life. Every one who does
his duty must at least be wounded."
The Admiral, who had never received a scratch, was not at all charmed
with this view of naval duty; but he was too polite to enter protest,
and only made one of his old-fashioned scrapes.
"I am sure every time I have heard a gun coming from the sea, and
especially after dark," the lady resumed, without thinking of him, "it
has made me miserable to know that probably Blyth was rushing into some
deadly conflict. But now I shall feel that he cannot do that; and I hope
they will keep him until the fighting grows milder. He used to send me
all his money, poor dear boy! And now I shall try to send him some of
mine, if it can be arranged about bank-notes. And now I can do it very
easily, thanks to your kindness, Sir Charles, his father's best friend,
and his own, and mine."
Lady Scudamore shed another tear or two, not of sorrow, but of pride,
while she put her hand into her pocket, as if to begin the remittance at
once. "You owe me no thanks, ma'am," said the Admiral, smiling; "if any
thanks are due, they are due to the King, for remembering at last what
he should have done before.
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